It was Spring, late May
and I so late, for class
poetry lessons of Mr. Davis
the hours, soon and fast
how warmth would come
a fleeting sort of sun
language poured rain
cried words
never again
the same
poetry & things
It was Spring, late May
and I so late, for class
poetry lessons of Mr. Davis
the hours, soon and fast
how warmth would come
a fleeting sort of sun
language poured rain
cried words
never again
the same